


FindMeInPops' 12 Days of Ficmas: Christmas Day Bonus - I Promise I've Been A Good Boy

by Find Me In Pops (writemeourlovestory)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21963910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writemeourlovestory/pseuds/Find%20Me%20In%20Pops
Summary: Betty is dressed as a Christmas elf and is on her way home from work when she bumps into a very drunk Jughead who is convinced that she actually knows Santa Claus
Relationships: Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42
Collections: FindMeInPops’ 12 Days of Ficmas 2019, Home for the HoliDale





	FindMeInPops' 12 Days of Ficmas: Christmas Day Bonus - I Promise I've Been A Good Boy

**Prompt:** No.12 - Person A dressed up as an elf because of their job. Person B is drunk and thinks that Person A actually knows Santa

 **Ship(s):** Betty Cooper x Jughead Jones

 **CW(s):** alcohol, swearing, mentions of street harassment

 **Reindeer Games:** Blitzen - Holidays

* * *

Walking home in the half-melted snow, Betty’s mind was fixated on how much she hated her job. The owner of the bar that she worked at had wanted to go ‘full-festive’ to try to rake in tourists. That was fine with her when he had been hanging up garlands and fairylights as well as putting up a couple of Christmas trees and bunches of mistletoe but then he had decided to dress the bar staff up as elves. Betty drew a line at being forced to work in a short, skintight elf outfit whilst serving drinks to tipsy men but it was either obey or be fired and she really needed the job; lucky for her, a childhood friend worked as a bouncer in the same bar and had been happy to escort her as she maneovered around the room - that worked to prevent roaming hands. Archie had had to go straight home to his wife and newborn, though, Betty had assured him she would be fine, she’d grab a taxi and go home. But the line for taxis outside the bar had been an hour long and, not wearing enough clothes, Betty was half-freezing to death. On account of not wanting to lose any limbs to frostbite, she had decided to walk the three blocks back to her apartment. During the journey, she had been catcalled five times and was still at risk of losing a finger or two, but at least she was not still standing in the queue to get a taxi.

As she rounded the final corner, she spotted a mass sat on the steps up to the apartment complex. Not knowing what to expect at 2am in the middle of the city, her body tensed at the potential threat, her mind running rampant with all of the possibilities of what could happen next. Braving to continue forward with the goal of her nice warm bed, she wrapped her fingers around the can of pepper spray in her handbag, slowing her pace and trying not to focus her eyes too long on what she now realised was a person curled up on her steps.

She had just reached safety, her hand on the door handle when movement from the mass caught her attention. Trying not to make any sudden moves, she slowly opened the door but stopped as the person spoke.

“You’re an elf.” It wasn’t a question. The man had a gruff, slurred voice and was definitely intoxicated and, by the stinging stench of alcohol, he was drunk, very drunk.

Betty did not know what to do. Her body was screaming at her to run, to get out of there but her mind was chastising her, reminding her of how her parents had always raised her to be polite. She did not want politeness to be the death of her but a small part of her felt sorry for the man; after all, to be this intoxicated in the middle of the street at 2am on Christmas Day, he must be going through an incredibly rough time.

“I, uh, I’m not a real elf.” Her tongue tripped over the words, the adrenaline in her veins preferring that she ran rather than talked.

“‘I’m not a real elf,’” The man mimicked as he uncurled himself more to be sat upright on the stairs, “that’s exactly what a real elf would say. You have to keep secrets, can’t have the whole world knowing about the big man.” He tapped his nose.

“I-I guess they would.” She let out a small chuckle. “But I promise I’m not. I work in a bar and, you see-”

“Just stop with the practiced, convoluted, bullshit story!” He interrupted, pushing himself up onto wobbly feet. “I don’t care! I’m not about to out you to the whole fucking world!” Although still slightly slurred, his enunciation was getting better and his words more coherent.

“Seriously,” she tried to reason but he would not let her get further than one word. Now on his feet, he took a few shaky steps towards her.

Betty brought the pepper spray out of the bag so it was only hidden by the overflap, ready to use it if he attempted an attack. His proximity was making her nervous. Upright now, she had a clearer view of his face and could see obvious tear tracks down his face - she was right, he had gone through something rough. Surprisingly though, she realised that he was wearing a three piece suit, crumpled and dirty, but an expensive suit nonetheless.

“I honestly don’t care but please,” he pulled his hands into a pleading gesture, “please, tell Santa I’ve been a good boy. I promise I’ve been a good boy, I promise!”

“I’m not-” She stopped, changing her next words. ”Sure. Sure, I’ll pass on the message.”

The man only nodded in response, turning and making his way back to the stair he had been sitting on before. With the exchange over, Betty opened the door to leave before her conscience got the better of her. No man who owned a three-piece suit got into this state just for the hell of it.

“Hey,” he froze as she called out to him, both of them turning to face each other and Betty letting the door go, “what’s your name?”

“Jughead.” He threw himself down on the step but continued to watch her.

“I’m Betty.” She moved to sit down near him, not so close that he could easily touch her, but close enough that she could see his expression. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”

Jughead scoffed but tears began to well in his eyes, a completely broken look taking over his face.

“My fiancée, my girlfriend of five years, has kicked me out of our apartment, it was _my_ apartment before her.” He spat the word ‘her’ like it was dirty. The tears then broke free, pouring down his cheeks. “I accused her of cheating, fuck I _know_ she’s been cheating on me - I walked in on her and my brother redressing!” He was now shouting but Betty did not have the heart to tell him to quiet down. This man was heartbroken and in her gut she just knew that he did not deserve a single inch of anything that had happened to him.

“She doesn’t deserve you or your love, you’re too good for her.” Over the meer minutes that they had known each other, he had made an impact on her, connected with her soul. She hated seeing him hurting. Betty scooted closer, laying her hand on his arm, brushing her fingers over the crumpled fabric.

“Thanks.” He offered a small, watery smile before it disappeared and he looked down to his feet. “I’m sorry, I’m not normally like this.”

“I know.” She soothed.

“Shit, I’m piss-drunk, covered in dirt, lying on my apartment steps and confessing my woes to a fucking elf.” Betty was still confused why Jughead was so convinced that she actually knew Father Christmas but had decided that it was not the most important part of this interaction.

Instead, Betty was wondering how she could help the broken man and, despite her head screaming for her not to, an invitation to come up to her apartment left her mouth. There was very little Betty could do for him on the street; if he were to come up, she could help him calm down, get him into clean clothes, let him sleep the alcohol off, give him food and water, and then talk him into kicking the she-devil out of his apartment.

“You’re inviting a drunk man up to your apartment?” Jughead questioned.

“Against my better judgement, I am.”

“No,” he protested, “no, I should…I should…” he trailed off, the alcohol taking its toll on his thought process.

“What about a trade?” She bartered. “You come and crash on my sofa, my conscience demands I insist, and,” she felt so stupid for even saying it, “I will tell Santa that you have been a very good boy.”

Those were the terms that made Jughead agree. He gathered himself up off the steps and followed her into the apartment complex.


End file.
